


we all know the sun will shine

by fruitwhirl



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, just jake and amy tryin' for a lil bebe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: It’s weird to let someone know, even if they ask, that you and your wife are having a ridiculous amount of unprotected sex, so Jake and Amy just don’t tell anyone.Well, at least not on purpose.





	we all know the sun will shine

**Author's Note:**

> this came to me after casecation, aka one of my favorite eps the show has ever done. thank you to ana (@amystiago) and jo (@amyscascadingtabs) for letting me use u as sounding boards! also!!! guess who's not ever gonna proofread her fics until the day after she posts them!
> 
> title is from the strumbellas' "wars"

It comes to him in waves.

First, as a small blip at the waterpark: the long stretch of twisty, slow-moving water that allows them to get in their tubes and lie back and _relax,_ chatting about everything and anything and nothing at all; the nearly vertical slide that nearly gives Amy a heart attack with its sheer height and angle (“Jake, if you die I will totally kill you”); and the relative quiet that is the dusk, when the sun is halfway down the sky. Amy is lying on the chair next to him, a book propped up on her lap. But her gaze is elsewhere, on the two toddlers at the edge of a nearby shallow pool, on the big grins on their faces even though the water’s gotten cold and their parents came by to tell them it was “time to go home.” Jake watches her watching them, the little smile that creeps onto her lips—he wonders how big it’d be with her own kid. _Their_ kid. His kid. It’s then when he feels the corners of his own mouth turning up, but he chooses not to say anything. Not yet.

A month later, they’re at her nephew Manny’s sixth birthday party. Normally, they only stay until after the cake was distributed (Amy’s always been able to sweet talk tía Belén into giving Jake a corner slice, which is just another reason he knows that Amy is _it_ for him), especially since it’s nowhere fun like a skate rink or laser tag arena, but Manny _is_ Amy’s favorite nephew, one of Cecil’s (her favorite brother). So, they stay. They stay well after Manny opens his gifts, including their educational coding game that he actually seems excited about.

Amy finally gets the chance to say hello to him after the last of the pictures have been taken, and, when he sees her, Manny bolts toward her, happily shrieking “Tía! Tía!” as he wraps his arms around her legs. She bends down, smiling oh so wide, and they chat and chat and chat and she pinches his cheek and he giggles. Of course, it’s not the first Santiago family function Jake’s attended, nor is it the first time he’s seen Amy dote on her brothers’ children before. But it’s the first time he’s ever _watched_ Amy interact with children while also allowing himself to imagine what she’ll be like with their own little boy or girl—the belly-laughs and the hugs and the tugging at her hair. The way she looks back at Jake, now, with her eyes lit up and he _knows_ he wants this, he wants this soon.

Just _how_ soon is the question.

It’s not until late July, when the squad is tasked with finishing a scavenger hunt with a particularly staunch time limit—a bomb. God, why does everyone resort to bombs to cause strife? Why not a mob? In any case, the bomber calls the 99th out—drops _Captain Raymond Holt_ by name—and they only have five hours to find the tick tick tick and disarm it. (They do, they _do_ , with only three minutes left on the clock and frankly Jake thinks this is among the scariest moments of his life.) But it’s the after that impacts him the most. When they arrive back at the precinct, the families of the squad are already there: Genevieve and Nikolaj for Charles, Kevin and Cheddar for Holt, Jocelyn for Rosa, and Sharon and the girls for Terry. Jake’s lucky; he had Amy by his side for the whole of the day, could grip her hand and know she was alive by the pulse of her wrist underneath his thumb.

Absently, he watches as Terry’s swarmed by his three little girls, watches as their faces grow fonder than he thinks possible. He watches as Nikolaj hangs onto his father’s waist, watches the boy’s eyes light up with the knowledge that his dad’s _okay_. Without meaning to, Jake thinks back to the hospital, to when they first had the conversation about kids and when he decided that the fact that he’s scared shouldn’t keep him from wanting them. He thinks back to when Amy said that “kids bring joy into your life.”

He wants that joy.

He wants that joy _now._

(Or, as soon as possible, he supposes.)

After a beat, he glances at Amy, studies the way she surveys the scene, a spectator. And then when he smiles, her gaze flits to his, and he takes this moment to slip his palm into hers and bring her closer. She furrows her brow at this, but he kisses her softly.

“I’m ready if you are.”

 

 

 

Ostensibly, Jake knows that it wouldn’t happen immediately. Amy is over thirty-five and just got off of birth control (and apparently it takes a few months for the body to readjust), and they’re both still under a pretty good deal of stress. Still, he’s surprised that four months out, nothing’s happened—after all, Amy has a three-inch thick conception binder with cascading tabs and they’re both eating a crazy amount of spinach and pineapple. They manage to get eight hours of sleep every night. Neither use scented body lotions anymore (although, it’s not like Jake used them often), and they’re avoiding alcohol as much as possible.

And they’ve _tried_ not to tell people.

It’s weird to let someone know, even if they ask, that you and your wife are having a ridiculous amount of unprotected sex, so they don’t tell anyone.

Well, at least not on purpose.

The first person to find out that they’re _trying for a baby_ is Rosa, but somehow that isn’t shocking. Nor is it shocking that she figures it out on her own, because Rosa’s always been particularly observant.

But then, one early Monday afternoon, shortly following Amy’s lunch break (which he normally shares with her, but he missed it because of some stupid hard-to-track-down witness dodging his calls), Rosa sidles up to his desk and practically growls at him to meet her in the evidence locker.

At first, Jake is confused. And terrified.

Especially when he enters and Rosa shoves him up against one of the shelves and _holy shit is that a knife._ Briefly, Jake wonders if these are his last few moments on earth. He wishes that he’d gotten the chance to tell Amy about the signed copy of _Deathly Hallows_ that he got her for her birthday that’s tucked under a loose floorboard in the bathroom.

Instead of killing him, Rosa just glares. “If your wife is pregnant and you still think you don’t want a baby and you break her heart, I _will_ eviscerate you.”*

“’Eviscerate.’ Nice word.”

“I mean it, Peralta.”

Jake gulps. “I know.” He tries to smile. “But you know I would never leave her. And Amy isn’t pregnant.”

Rosa just raises an eyebrow.

“She took a test this morning and it was negative.”

“Those can be inaccurate.”

“She took _five_ tests.”

Silence.

“Amy and I _are_ trying, though. It’s been a few months and, so far, nothing, but we’re gonna keep trying _._ ”

Rosa’s eyes shift down, drop to the floor. “So, you _do_ want a baby? This isn’t just you going along with it?”

“You know that Amy wouldn’t let me ‘just go along with it.’” There’s something itchy at the back of his throat. “But yes, we _want_ a baby. _I_ want a baby. With her. Hence, the trying.”

Then, Rosa steps back. She gives him a hard look and nods. “So, she’s not pregnant?”

“Not yet, anyways. Hopefully soon.” He lets out a deep breath, looks between her and the door, before asking, “Why’d you think she was pregnant in the first place?”

“She’s peed four times in the past hour.”

“She’s trying to stay hydrated.”

“Her emergency shame cigarettes aren’t anywhere in the precinct.”

“She’s been trying to quit.”

“She bolted to the bathroom when Boyle brought in his lunch.”

“Did it have eyeballs in it?”

“…yes.”

Just as Rosa’s about to leave, Jake grabs her arm, which is usually a bad decision because she hates touch. Now, though, she just pauses. “Please don’t tell anyone about Amy and I. Especially Boyle.”

Rosa scoffs. “As if I’d ever tell Boyle personal information.”

“He was literally the first person you came out to.”

Instead of a response, all he hears is the door shutting behind her.

 

 

 

Somehow, over the course of the next few months, _everyone_ seems to find out that they’re trying.

Terry finds out because he recognizes Jake and Amy’s crazy strategies for getting pregnant (“Sharon used to drink red raspberry leaf tea, too”), and poor sweet innocent Gary accidentally walks in on them in one of the second-floor supply closets. Holt finds out when he stumbles in on Amy having a conversation on the phone with her mom in one of the back hallways. Hell, even Kevin apparently knows because he emailed Jake with some of his colleagues’ unsolicited fertility tips.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes a precinct-wide secret that, at any moment, Jake and Amy could be fucking in a supply closet or one of their cars (to be clear, either Jake or Amy’s car). Without condoms or birth control.

(One night, when she’s pressed against his side and his fingers are absentmindedly playing with her hair, she tells him that, no, no one is thinking that. Maybe he’s a bit paranoid, but he swears he sees Officer Alvarado glaring at him when Amy pecks him on the cheek in the morning.)

It gets to the point that _everyone_ knows.

Everyone but Charles.

Of course, that’s not by accident.

Jake and Amy make it a point that _no one can tell Charles,_ because they know he will have a heart attack or be insistent on being their personal doula or give them a jar of goat urine or something. They’re not ready for that.

 

 

 

Charles has never been angrier at his best friend.

For the past six months, he’s _known_ something was up. They both smelled like pineapples. They were always sneaking off. Amy’s refused to come to their bar nights at Shaw’s. Jake’s been drinking _water._ Frankly, he’s mad at himself for not catching it sooner.

They’ve been _trying_ for a baby and they didn’t even ask him for his sage advice. (After all, he _is_ a licensed doula.)

And they didn’t _tell_ him.

Holt told him.

(Well, accidentally. Holt had asked him to look at a report on his computer and had a tab open labeled “r/tryingforababy,” which, of course, Charles immediately noticed and was confused about for a split second because Holt and Kevin never seemed to have any inclination towards having children. Then he connected the dots and the moment he questioned Holt, he broke.)

They told _Holt_ and didn’t tell him.

Who else knows?

Charles has half a mind to confront them about it, but he decides to wait. And stew. From across the bullpen, he watches as Amy hovers by her husband’s desk, and he takes her hands, covering them with his own. It’s too cute, and Charles wants to wretch.

Then, they stand, slowly amble to the evidence locker.

After a beat, Charles follows them.

“—doing okay, Ames?”

“AHA!”

“ _Charles_?”

_“What are you doing here, Boyle?”_

He’s caught them in the act. They’re _chatting._ Probably about how they’ve been unfairly keeping their secret from him. Their eyes are wide as they stare at him, shocked—Amy’s mouth even forms a little “ _oh_.”

“I can’t believe you thought you could keep this secret from me, Peralta,” Charles spits. He hates how mean he sounds when he really wants to just hug them both. But he’s been betrayed, and he can’t just give them the fail-safe fertility tips that have been in the Boyle family for hundreds of years.

“We wanted to tell you, but we’re not telling anyone until we’re sure,” Jake offers. Lightly, Amy’s gripping his arm.

Charles isn’t having it. “I’m really the first person who knows? _Everyone_ knows!”

Amy blanches. “No one should know.”

“I had to hear it from _Captain Holt.”_

“ _Holt_ knows?”

Jake is confused. “Holt couldn’t have found out.”

“ _When were you going to tell me you were trying for a baby?”_ Charles is on the verge of crying; his best friend is lying to him. He doesn’t know what happened to their friendship. How could this have happened? “You guys could already _be_ pregnant if you’d just asked me! I have so many pieces of advice passed down from generations of very fertile Boyles."

“Charles—”

“Do you know how much yak milk I have in storage?”

“ _Charles—”_

“I just can’t believe—”

“Charles!”

He breaks out of his spiral then, and Amy worries her lip. “Charles, we aren’t trying to get pregnant.”

His heart breaks, and for some ungodly reason, Jake’s smiling. Like really wide. “But—”

Amy leans into her husband then, and he wraps his arm around her. Charles has never seen either of them so goddamn happy, aside from _maybe_ when he walked in on them in the evidence locker after Jake proposed. Now, Jake glances down at her, as if to check with her on something, then back at him. “We’re not trying _anymore_.”

Why do they keep torturing him? It’s like they’re just twisting the knife further and further. He turns to leave, betrayed. Hurt.

“Charles, we’re not trying anymore because we’re pregnant.”

He doesn’t even feel the hard floor when he passes out.

 

 

 

“Honestly, that could’ve gone a lot worse.”

Amy raises her eyebrows at her husband as they watch from the break room the small man who’s sitting all the way across the bullpen, typing away at his computer. Once he woke up, they expected that he’d run out into the office and start bellowing some sort of Boyle Birthing Ballad. But he doesn’t. He walked out calmly, sat down at his desk, and got back to work.

Jake presses a kiss to her temple. “How long do you think before he tells anyone?”

“I dunno, he kept Rosa’s secret for a pretty long time.”

“He also probably feared for his life.”

Amy pauses, crinkles her nose as if in deep thought. They wanted to wait until she was ten weeks before they told the squad (Holt, of course, would be alerted at six), but she supposes that was too big a dream. “I give him an hour.”

“That long?”

“Forty-five minutes?”

It’s then that they hear “Baby” by Justin Bieber playing from the bullpen.

_Five minutes._

 

**Author's Note:**

> *obviously, jake would never leave amy. rosa knows this. however. rosa is Protective. 
> 
> you guys don't know just how many mom blogs and reddit forums i had to read for this while researching. 
> 
> let me know what you think and catch me at dmigod on tumblr!


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